


Book Return (around the horn)

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: After-Apocalypse, Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4737164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale are on their way back to London in the Jeep when they find the Book - the Book that Aziraphale didn't return. Crowley thinks Aziraphale should give it back; Azi doesn't want to. </p><p>Also contains references to Handel's "Water Music."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Book Return (around the horn)

As Crowley pulled away from the air base in the Jeep, he glanced over at the angel, who was sitting in the odd position of the right-hand passenger seat. The disorienting feel of left-hand drive on left-hand roads, with the picturesque hedgerows and stone borders of Tadfield passing by dizzily just inside his peripheral vision, was enough to convince Crowley to keep his eyes focussed on the road. Or maybe it was the knowledge of what was happening to his right.

Aziraphale was air-conducting to Handel’s _Water Music, Suite in F major._

As the tempo changed from _Adagio e staccato_ to _Allegro_ , Aziraphale noted, “You know, this piece was one of the first to utilise the horn. Handel wrote it for a floating party that George I held on the Thames in July of 1717. I remember that day well! It was a Wednesday evening. The King was on one barge and the orchestra was on another, with the population of London lining both sides of the river. Prior, the horn had been used only as accent in rustic hunting pieces. But Handel wanted to come up with something new and different for this very important commission. At that time, horns did not have valves and could only play on the harmonic series of notes, but horn players soon found they could play chromatic notes by altering their lip and hand position in the bell. The King liked the piece so much the orchestra played it three times! Oh, by the way, your recording isn’t historically informed because Baroque tuning was a few cents lower than modern pitches…”

Crowley stopped the Jeep in the middle of the beech-hung lane and dramatically ejected the cassette. “I’d rather listen to Queen than listen to you natter on about this!” he snarled. He held the tape in the air above Aziraphale’s head whilst the angel futilely tried to grab it. As Crowley turned to wing the cassette into the adjacent horse pasture, he and Aziraphale saw the brown oblong in the back seat at the same time.

“How did that get here?” Crowley said, genuinely puzzled.

“Last I saw, it was at the bookshop,” Aziraphale responded, with just a tinge of guilt.

 _“You_ were supposed to mail it back to her!” Crowley retorted with disbelief. He slumped down into the seat.

“I was _going_ to return it, but I was still reading it. That’s how I found out where Armageddon was going to take place. And who the Antichrist was!” explained Aziraphale.

Crowley growled, remembering the two days he spent alone in his flat. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I was going to tell you when I called you. But you couldn’t talk!” Aziraphale justified.

“Because I was a bit BUSY!”

“Well, SO WAS I!”

They glowered at each other.

“You know, I found the book when I went looking for you. In YOUR FLAMING BOOKSHOP!” A sorrowful look crossed Aziraphale’s face and Crowley wished, just for a moment, he could take back his words.

The angel said softly, “Thanks for saving it.”

“Well yes…that’s how I found you. I read your notes. But I thought I left the book in the Bentley. And the Bentley…” After a lengthy pause, Crowley released a mournful sigh.

Aziraphale placed a sympathetic hand on Crowley’s knee as he tried to figure this out. “The book _is_ a touch charred. You must have put it in the Jeep at the gate.”

“But this isn’t even the same Jeep!” Exasperated, Crowley released the clutch and put the vehicle in gear. It lurched forward, throwing both beings back into their seats.

Crowley blessed under his breath. “This is ridiculous. We’ve just witnessed the Almost-Apocalypse, and we’re arguing about a book. Look. We’re still in Tadfield. You can return it now.”

“But…it’s the only book I have left in all the world!” Aziraphale wailed. He looked imploringly at Crowley with a piteous expression in his sad eyes. Crowley attempted to ignore the ploy.

“Doesn’t make it yours,” muttered the demon. “Now, I am going to drive down this hill to the cottage and you’re going to give it back.”

The angel looked contrite. “I suppose you’re right. But I can’t bear to do it. Crowley, will you return the book for me?”

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley rolled his eyes. “Shades of Eden, Aziraphale! It’s not funny - a demon can get into real trouble doing the right thing!”

“Er,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t think either of us could be in any more trouble than we already are. Besides, I don’t think Heaven or Hell is paying attention to what we’re doing right now. I’m serious though, dear boy. I don’t think I can let go of it. Think of it as a metaphysical experiment.”

 _Upon_ my _arse,_ thought Crowley. Still, he couldn’t resist a direct solicitation from the angel. He pulled into the gravel driveway of Jasmine Cottage next to a small, non-descript car and shut off the engine. Crowley, who had made a point of knowing the make and model of every high-end luxury car on Earth, was hard-pressed to identify this vehicle. _Japanese?_ The crickets were playing a night symphony attended by a diamond sky of stars. The windows of the cottage were dark.

“Maybe the young lady isn’t home,” Aziraphale said hopefully.

“She’s home,” the demon flatly stated. “And she’s got company,” he added, looking pointedly at the adjacent vehicle. Crowley slid out of the Jeep, grabbed the book from the back seat, and crunched up the path toward the front door. He glanced above the door at a horseshoe, which was giving off a dim white glow. _Odd porch light,_ he mused, rapping smartly on the door.

He waited. And waited. Finally, Crowley set the book down on the porch and started to walk back toward Aziraphale. “Okay, you were right; she’s not…” The door opened and a voice called, “Wait!”

The young lady they’d met on Wednesday night was standing in the open doorway of the cottage. She was wearing a man’s button-down shirt and scarcely anything else. She ran a hand through her hair to smooth it back out of her eyes.

“You’re the…bicycle repairman…with the car…” She looked beyond Crowley to see Aziraphale sitting in the Jeep. “Where’s your car? I thought it wasn’t damaged…”

“No,” Crowley answered, coming back up the steps. “You didn’t damage it. We were in the area and wanted to return your book.” He stooped down to pick it up, and handed it to the girl. Her eyes widened.

“You smell like smoke! I remember! You were at the…thing…at the base today!” Behind her, a young man appeared wearing nothing but trousers. He peered nearsightedly over her shoulder.

“Um…well…er…Goodbye!” Crowley spluttered, awkwardly backing away and nearly tripping on his way down the path. He clambered into the Jeep, turned the key in the ignition, and slammed the gearshift into reverse. The Jeep cut into the lane and roared into the night, with the couple in the doorway staring quizzically after it.

 

**

  
“I think that went well,” said Aziraphale.

“Ngk,” responded Crowley.

The angel patted Crowley’s knee (again!) and gave him a heavenly smile. “Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley’s world suddenly felt a great deal better. He made the turn onto the slip road to the M40 eastbound to return to London.

Aziraphale slipped the abandoned cassette back into the player. As the familiar strains of _Water Music, Suite in D major: Alla Hornpipe_ swept over the Jeep, the two beings sang along with the joyous responsive phrases.

“You know,” said Aziraphale. “There’s an old joke about the horn being a divine instrument. Because man blows into it, but only God knows what will come out.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah,” he grinned. “I hear it’s a bit of a devil to play.”

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley's last line comes from a Flanders & Swann comedy bit titled "Ill Wind;" a song set to Mozart's Horn Concerto No. 4, "Rondo" which is funnier than it sounds. Or maybe you have to be a horn player. It can be found here.  
> http://www.hornplanet.com/hornpage/museum/articles/ill_wind.html  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jc_BFM_wJMU
> 
> Much of the information about Handel's "Water Music" comes from a contemporary account published in the Daily Courant, London, 19 July 1717.


End file.
